


Comparisons; Not Always Useful in Child Rearing

by ryoku



Series: Switch; To Change Circumstances [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Swap AU, Bruce's Inability to Express Himself Well, Gen, Jason is Bruce's First Child, Semi-Dysfunctional Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoku/pseuds/ryoku
Summary: That first Christmas with Jason had, in a way, changed Bruce's life. He wasn't sure what to expect from his first Christmas with Dick in their lives.





	Comparisons; Not Always Useful in Child Rearing

**Author's Note:**

> So it's a series now. This is the second part, and can be read as a stand alone, but probably goes best with the first piece. I hope you enjoy this!

That first Christmas with Jason had, in a way, changed Bruce's life. He wasn't sure what to expect from his first Christmas with Dick in their lives. 

 

For the first time in his life, Dick Grayson woke up on Christmas morning, and didn't want to get out of bed. He wanted to keep sleeping, and not even the thought of doing his exercises was enough to motivate him. Mom would have scolded him, and dad would have plied him with waffles or pancakes or sugary cereal if they had any, but he woke up alone, to cold, desolate Wayne manor. There was nothing that made him want to leave the bed. 

He could see the fire place from where he was laying, the fire Alfred had started the night before was long dead. There wasn't even a glow to indicate that the gray lifeless ashes had been something beautiful, vibrant and dangerous the night before. 

His eyes flitted to the window. It was snowing outside, large flakes swishing down. That might have meant a snowball fight, or snowmen, which made him think of Raya and Raymond, having Christmas biscuits and hot apple cider, somewhere far away on their holiday break. The week off had always seemed like something special; his parents had more time to spend with him, training had always taken up less time, and there had been exploring to do in whichever location they'd ended up. Now he was stuck here, in the biggest, fanciest, deadest place he could ever imagine. 

Zitka was still in his arms at least. He buried his face into the worn fabric, but she didn't smell right anymore. She smelled like everything else in Wayne manor, clean, with a twist of lemon or maybe pine, he couldn't tell. In that instant, Dick hated Alfred for insisting that she needed to be washed. Zitka wasn't ever going to smell right again, like the little van that Dick had called home, a conglomerate of his father's cheap aftershave, which changed from month to month, because he always liked to try out different ones, the dried apricots and dates that his mother liked to eat as snacks, and the chalk that smelled like a hard day's rehearsal. Dick hadn't even noticed until the familiar scents were suddenly gone. Just like he couldn't remember the exact timber of father's voice, maybe one day he'd wake up and those smells would be lost forever. 

Dick could feel tears prickling at his eyes, but he scrubbed at his face with one hand. He didn't want to cry anymore. It didn't help, just made him feel tired, alone and stupid. Gone were the days when he would cry and mom would rush to his side to see what was wrong, would envelop him in her arms and coo in his ear. He hadn't liked crying then, because he knew it was selfish and he wasn't a baby anymore. Now he didn't want to cry because it was useless. 

He nuzzled into Zitka, and closed his eyes. He just wanted to keep sleeping. Maybe he could just sleep through Christmas. 

~

When Bruce rolled over, and pried his eyes open to see that it was past two in the afternoon, it took his brain a little longer than necessary to realize what he was actually seeing. He'd left Alfred with specific instructions when he'd gone out on patrol the night before. Once Dick woke up, Alfred was to wake him as well. There had been no wake up call, and he'd slept through half the day. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem, but it was Christmas, and Bruce had been anticipating it with wary concern. 

That first year, Jason had been up early, before even the sun had risen. He'd crept downstairs on his own and deposited himself on the couch in the main sitting room, where the tree had been set up. Alfred had found him there hours later, wrapped in a blanket, staring vacantly at the lights of the Christmas tree, and the glistening presents under it. His eyes had been wet and his cheeks scrubbed red. 

That Christmas had started quiet and somber, but Jason had eased into the ritual, with Bruce coaxing him to open his presents while Alfred plied him with mint chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa. 

It had been so important. 

Bruce remembered what Christmas had been like before, the frantic opening of presents beside a warm fireplace, soft kisses from his mother, and the amused laughter of his father, but his first Christmas with Jason had been so different. All of a sudden, after years of it being another day on the calendar where he had to put on Brucie and parade around parties, Christmas meant something again. Christmas was having time to spend with Jason, Alfred's extravagant cooking, and trying extra hard to get Jason just what he wanted, especially since Jason never told him. It was so much more than he had ever expected, and every subsequent Christmas had been better. 

In the years that followed, Jason had flourished, taking up Robin and hitting every conceivable milestone with false bravado and cheer that had grown to be genuine. And, Bruce, well. Bruce had felt like he'd done something right, that he really did have something to be thankful for. It wasn't a feeling he'd been used to.

Bruce hadn't known what to expect of Dick. He certainly hadn't expected to sleep through half the day undisturbed. As he was being reminded on an almost daily basis, Jason and Dick were very different children. 

 

Jason was in the sitting room when Bruce ambled downstairs in his robe. He was curled up in the couch corner that he favored, closest to the fire place, a blanket draped over his lap, a steaming mug in one hand, and a book in the other. The tree, and all it's presents, were pristine and untouched. Dick was nowhere to be seen. Bruce wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting to find, but this hadn't exactly been it. 

Blue-green eyes looked up at him from the couch, and made a lazy circuit around the room as if to confirm that no one else was there. Jason gave a half shrug, and went back to his book. The nonchalance rankled Bruce but the implied meaning was very clear. ' _You adopted him, don't ask me._ ' He tried to give Jason the patented Alfred look of disapproval, but it was hardly effective. Jason didn't even look up from his book again. Bruce thought about snatching it out of his hands, and seeing just what he was reading, but decided against it. As Jason had put it, in significantly less words, he had a missing child to track down. 

The kitchen was his next stop. When Jason had first gotten to the manor, he'd spent an absorbent amount of time in the kitchen, either with Alfred watching and learning how to cook, or sneaking out food. For up to a year after adopting him, Alfred and Bruce had found caches of non-perishables hidden around the house and grounds. 

Dick had showed no such tendencies, but as expected, Alfred was there, already busy preparing dinner. He liked to go all out for Christmas, a tradition that had gone into remission when Martha and Thomas had died, but that had come back with a vengeance when Jason came into their lives. 

Alfred took one look at him, shook his head, and went to check on the oven. “As I'm sure you are here to inquire, Master Dick has refused to emerge from his room. I have attempted to coax him out a number of times, with no success. From what I have gathered of the mutterings he calls English, I would venture he intends to stay in there.” 

After a long pause, and once Bruce realized that no other information was forthcoming, Bruce responded. “I'll go talk to him.”

“I think that would be best.” Alfred replied, and continued to busy himself in the kitchen. Bruce had hoped that Alfred would follow him up for moral support, or with something sweet to bribe Dick with, but there didn't seem to be much chance of that. Bruce wasn't really sure what both Jason and Alfred were expecting of him. If Alfred couldn't get Dick to come down, there wasn't much chance he'd have more success. He went upstairs to try anyway. 

 

When Bruce knocked on Dick's door, there was no answer. He waited, then knocked again. “Dick,” he said, before opening the door. He had a brief concern that Dick had run again, but as he peeked inside, the mound under the blankets was definitely breathing, and he could see a head of dark hair poking out of the comforter. “Will you come downstairs?”

“Go away.” Dick's answer was said more into the pillow than anything, but Bruce got the idea. He stood there for a few seconds, before walking into the room, and softly closing the door behind him. 

“Dick,” he said, walking over to the bed and sitting down on it. Dick shifted, so that his back was towards Bruce, but he got a quick look at his red cheeks and glassy eyes before Dick hid them away. 

Bruce felt completely unprepared for this. How was he supposed to convince a child to just try again, when he hadn't? When he'd been in Dick's position, nothing anyone had said to him had mattered, and he wondered if Dick really was destined to be just like him. It was only now, looking back on the parallels in their situation, that Bruce could admit that he'd made bad choices for himself, but even with that understanding he wasn't sure if he'd have been capable of doing it any other way. Looking at Dick was sometimes like looking in a mirror, and knowing what could happen. 

What an uphill battle Alfred must have fought, and lost. 

“The first Christmas is hard,” he said, thinking about the sad little boy he'd been, who had thrown out any semblance of joy from his life, and had delighted in nothing for years after his parents had died. “After my parents, I stopped celebrating Christmas. Alfred tried for the first few years, but I wouldn't have it. It was just another day I had to pretend everything was fine. When I adopted Jason that changed. Christmas was important again.” 

He thought of Jason opening his first present with tears in his eyes, how desperately he'd missed Catherine that first year, but had still thanked Bruce, and told him that it was all too much. Shortly after, Bruce had found him smoking in the attic, a sure sign that he'd been stressed and anxious, and Bruce had coaxed him down to have lunch. It'd been rough, but it'd also felt good to give Jason every little bit of happiness he could. God knew the kid deserved it. 

“It's never going to be like it was,” Bruce admitted, because it wasn't. He wasn't in the habit of lying to make people feel better, and he knew it would've fallen flat if he'd tried. “But it won't always be bad.” 

They sat in silence, Dick turned away from him, and Bruce waiting for some sign that he'd been listening. When enough time had passed that Bruce was considering what else he could say, Dick turned. He looked right at him, straight in the face, and for an instant Bruce felt blinded, like a deer in the headlights about to be run over. 

“I don't care,” Dick said evenly, enunciating each word. He turned his back again, and clung to the stuffed animal in his arms. That was that. 

Batman might have been able to say something to that, but Bruce Wayne pulled a complete blank. What was he supposed to say? Demand that Dick come downstairs and enjoy Christmas with them? Pick him up and make him? Get angry at the fact that he was being insensitive when Bruce was just trying to make things easier? Argue with an 11 year old? Bruce had no idea. Jason had been so graceful and sad in his acceptance of holidays, but here Dick was, just putting up a wall and refusing to move. 

Bruce thought about reaching out, giving Dick some form of physical contact, because he always seemed to respond to that. Would it be manipulative? He reached out, hesitated, then retracted his hand before making contact. 

Instead, he got up, and walked to the door. “If you want to join us, there'll be cookies and presents,” Bruce offered over his shoulder, because he wasn't above bribery. 

Bruce waited for any sort of response, but none came. Dick didn't even look at him. 

Resigned, Bruce gently shut the door behind him, and then glared at it for 4 minutes, thinking about how that could have gone better. 

 

Jason was in the same position he'd been in when Bruce had left the sitting room, except for the cup of warm cocoa, which was now empty, and had been discarded on the coffee table. As always, it was on a coaster. If nothing else, he at least knew Jason well. 

Jason looked up at Bruce in the doorway, saw that Dick was nowhere in sight, and closed his book. There was accusation on his face before Bruce could even say anything to defend himself. “He doesn't want to come down,” Bruce said, and even he thought it sounded lame. He reminded himself that he was the parent, and that his feelings were not hurt.

“And?” Jason asked, as if Bruce had anything else to say on the matter. Bruce didn't, so he just sat down in his favorite chair, and looked at the tree. It was a nice tree. “Bruce, are you telling me you went up there, and didn't ask him why he didn't want to come down?” 

Now that Jason said it, it did seem like a good idea. Why hadn't he thought of that? Bruce gave his son a look. It wasn't exactly a glare, but it wasn't pleasant either. “I told him I understood how hard holidays are, after...” Bruce trailed off, but Jason kept looking at him expectantly. “He told me he didn't care.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, and he did it so dramatically, that even if he'd been wearing the domino, Bruce would have been able to see it. “Why should he care how you feel? You're not the one hiding in your room. It's your job to make him feel better, not the other way around.” Bruce actually did glare at Jason this time, but Jason just shrugged, and remained completely unimpressed. “Don't get me wrong, he's a brat, but you've gotta figure out what's wrong and how to fix it. Easiest way is to just get him to talk to you. Unlike most of us, he'll talk about that sort of thing. If he thinks you really want to know, he'll tell you, but he's like a lie detector, if you don't mean it, he'll know.” Jason said, and it struck Bruce that Jason, in the short time that he had known Dick, had already formed such strong opinions about him. Perhaps even scarier, was that Bruce couldn't really argue with him. 

For as long as he'd known Jason, the kid had always had strong gut instincts about people, and was observant to a fault. They were traits he'd polished and put to very good use as Robin, but it was always surprising to see him use them in his day to day life. Why he needed those skills always made something like guilt tighten in Bruce's gut, but now wasn't the time to dwell on that. “He was adamant that he wanted me to leave.” 

“Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't.” Jason shrugged, as if it didn't really matter. “Point is, you won't know for sure unless you actually talk to him. If he shuts you down, then sure, run away.” And Jason said it, as if Bruce ran away from most of his social obligations. How did he have a knack for raising rude know-it-alls? Dick hadn't been around for long, but he was already well on his way to filling those shoes. Alfred would probably say it was because Bruce'd been one, but that's why he didn't ask Alfred. 

“If not, you might just learn something,” Jason said, giving him that confident little look that came over his face whenever he knew he was right. Just seeing it made Bruce feel like he'd done at least something good with his life, despite all of his wrong turns. Bruce didn't know if he really deserved the credit for giving Jason the confidence he deserved, but it was something he was immensely proud of nonetheless. 

“This sounds disturbingly like dating advice, young man,” Bruce said, because he couldn't just let Jason get the better of him like that. Not until he was at least twenty, and the teenage woes were a thing of the past.

Jason blushed to his ears, and sputtered. “Sh-shut up old man!” He bit out, scrunching up his mouth. “I'm in charge of a team of stubborn teenage morons with super powers, just telling them what to do never works! Just- go up there! And don't come back until I'm done with this chapter!” Then Jason flopped back into the couch, and hid behind his book. 

Bruce dutifully did as he was told. Unable to hide the smile on his face, he went back upstairs. 

 

This time when he knocked on the door, there was a soft thump against it, quickly followed by an angry cry of, “go away!” 

Undeterred, Bruce opened the door, and peeked inside. The pillow that had been lodged at the door was now forlornly slumped against it. At some point, Bruce was either going to have to discourage this throwing business, or at least channel it into something more productive then temper tantrums. He'd tackle that another time. “I said, go away!” Dick yelled. He was sitting up this time, facing the door, his bottom lip trembling and his eyes red and wet. 

“I just want to talk,” Bruce said, as he leaned down to retrieve the pillow. He still hadn't exactly been allowed to enter, which was stupid, because it was his house, but he dutifully stood in the doorway. When no admission was forthcoming, and Dick just continued to glare at him, Bruce went on. “Can I come in?” 

“No!” Dick yelled without a second thought, and promptly buried himself under the covers. 

Bruce stood at the doorway for a few awkward moments, wondering what exactly he should do at this point. The easy thing would be to just walk away and try later, but he knew that Jason, and probably Alfred, would be disappointed in him. Besides, now that the idea was in his head, he really did want to talk with Dick. The last conversation had gone badly, but Bruce had also gone at it as if Dick had been Jason, which hadn't worked at all. Jason was very mature for his age, always had been, and talking to him like an adult had always worked. Dick's outright refusal had put him off center, and if they really were going to bring him in as Robin, Bruce needed to know how to deal with these tantrums on his own.

Bruce was also unwilling to admit out loud that it rankled him that Jason was positive Dick would talk to him, but only if he really wanted to listen. Bruce should have known that, not Jason. When he reduced people to equations and probabilities, they were so much easier to understand, but Dick wasn't either of those things, and apparently, he wasn't fooled by Bruce's lackluster efforts to connect with him. 

Bruce watched in silence as the bundle under the blankets shuddered. It sounded like Dick was crying.

“Do you want your pillow back?” Bruce asked, mostly for a lack of anything better to say. 

There was a long pause, before a dejected sounding, “yes,” came from under the blankets. 

Bruce thought about Jason's advice before he spoke. “I'll throw you the pillow, and while you have it, you get to say anything you want. If you want me to answer, toss the pillow back.” It wasn't exactly a great plan, but it might get a dialogue started, instead of Dick just angrily yelling at him or hiding. Dick poked his head out of the covers, and eyed Bruce like he was up to something. They stayed like that for a long time, with Bruce feeling downright judged under Dick's piercing gaze. Cautiously Dick nodded his head once, and sat up.

“I have a question first. Do you want to be alone?” Bruce asked, and threw the pillow. He caught the look of sheer panic that went over Dick's face at the question, and realized he'd already messed up. That was why he planned everything to the nth degree, he wasn't good at this whole talking thing. He should have taken the time to properly plan this out, before just coming back and trying again. 

Dick caught the pillow without a problem. He held it to his chest, wrapping himself around it as if he held tight enough, it wouldn't get away from him again. He looked so small and sad there in that big bed, with his lip trembling and his shoulders hiked up to his ears. The stuffed elephant that Dick had brought with him was pressed between his chest and the pillow, the little trunk sticking out as if it was struggling to breath underwater, or being crushed. “No,” Dick answered, his tone matching the panic that was on his face, and he refused to look at Bruce when he said it. 

When Bruce didn't say anything, Dick finally looked up at him, upset and afraid. 

Bruce crossed the room in a few measured strides, and Dick was in his arms and holding onto him before he could even properly sit down, desperate little fingers digging into the silk of his robe. Dick hid his face into Bruce's chest, shaking. “I'm sorry,” Dick said around sobs, “that was mean. Don't send me away.” 

Bruce ran a hand through Dick's hair. “I said that wrong. I meant, if you want me to come back later, I will.” Dick went rigid in his arms. 

“That's not what you said!” Dick accused, pushing himself out of Bruce's arms and glaring up at him. Whatever fear that had taken over Dick had shifted to anger so fast that Bruce didn't know what to do. He hadn't meant to play on Dick's emotions, but Dick was looking at him with blatant accusation. 

Bruce's emotions seemed to build for years, eroding away at him like the ocean shaping a shore line, but Dick's were like a forest fire. They ate and burned bright, turning or dying at an instant's notice, and not much else seemed to temper them. Bruce wondered if it was something he'd grow out of, or if these rages were something he'd have to train out of Dick. 

“I said it wrong. No one is going to send you away. You're not alone here.” 

“Yes I am!” Dick screamed, scooting away until his back was against the bed's headboard. The fact that Dick wanted to put distance between them, that Bruce was too close, when all Dick ever seemed to want was to be close, hurt more then Bruce could have imagined. “You're never here, Alfred's always busy and Jason doesn't live here! You sent him away, and you-” Dick's voice broke there, and he scrubbed angrily at his face, “you like him. All you do is talk about yourself, or look at me like I'm a pet you brought home, or say how I'm not like Jason because you love him. Why am I here if you don't want me?” 

There were a number of things in that little tirade that Bruce was going to have to sit and ruminate on later, but at that exact moment, there was a child looking up at him with a frightening mix of accusation and sadness splashed across his face. For a solid ten seconds, Bruce didn't know what to do. 

When he did speak he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say, but he did it anyway. “When my parents died,” he could see Dick glaring at him, and Bruce had to look away, even though he could still feel those eyes boring holes into him. “I was lost, for a long time. A part of me will always be lost. I don't want that for you. If you keep yourself locked away-” like he had, for years and years. Bruce decided to just let that train of thought die. “I thought if I could give you what I didn't have, you wouldn't be as sad and lost as I was.” 

“But I am!” The frustration in Dick's voice was distinct, the distress and anger almost palpable. “I don't know why I'm here, or what I'm doing. No one's telling me what to do anymore, and I- I'm stuck in this house. I hate it! I'm trapped here, away from my family, and the man that killed my mom and dad is out there!” Dick pointed an accusing finger out the window, before flailing his hands upwards. “Everyone keeps telling me not to worry about it, just be normal they say, but I'm not! If this is normal, then I hate it! I hate staying here all day with nothing to do, with no one to do anything with! I need-” And Dick stopped there, like all the energy had been drained out of him. He curled up his legs, wrapped his arms around them, and hung his head. When he'd been yelling, he'd done everything to make himself seem bigger, but now he just looked so small. “I need something, but I don't know what it is anymore. I'm all alone.” 

“Dick,” Bruce prompted. He thought about reaching out, but didn't dare close the distance between them on his own. Dick had set this space between them, and Bruce wasn't about to cross it until Dick at least looked at him. “I want to help, but sometimes I don't know how. We both lost our parents, but we're very different. When I was your age, I wanted to be alone. I didn't want anyone to help me, or to try and make things better.” 

“Is that what I should want?” Dick asked, his voice small and wavering as he looked up at Bruce. It was an unashamed plea for some kind of guidance, and Bruce felt once again completely out of his depth.

“No,” Bruce answered without a second thought. “If you're lonely, we can fix that.” Getting him enrolled in school earlier than expected would be almost an easy solution. Bruce had never wanted to go back to school after losing his parents, and Jason had been anxious about going back from the start. He'd expected something similar with Dick, but perhaps that wasn't what he needed at all. “I'm not always going to know how to help you, but if something's wrong, you can talk to me about it.” 

“It doesn't matter,” Dick said ruefully, his eyes far away. “You say you'll help, that you can fix things, but you're never here, and Jason's never here, and Alfred's nice but he's like you. You're all busy, and I'm just, here.” 

Bruce was reminded of the warning Jason had given him a month ago, how he couldn't just leave Dick in the manor and expect everything to be fine, that Dick would need much more than that. It had seemed to work with Jason, but maybe he'd been wrong about that too. It was very possible Jason had been genuinely warning him, and not acting out of jealousy. His son always had an unnerving skill at hitting right where things hurt. What other mistakes had he made? Jason had been so starved of affection, that he'd been happy with almost every ounce of attention he got, and then he'd become Robin, and just blossomed. Nightly patrols had become a form of bonding they hadn't had before. 

It was so inherently difficult, to look at Dick, and not compare him with Jason. 

“We can start you at school in January.” Bruce offered, hoping that wouldn't just seem like he was shoving Dick off on other people. For once, he seemed to have said something right, because Dick looked up at him in surprise that was tinted with excitement. “I thought you'd want more time, but you can start next month if you'd like.” 

Dick seemed to consider that for three seconds, before nodding his head. “I've never been to school,” he said, but where as a statement like that from Jason would have come out hesitant, Dick seemed enthralled by the idea. 

“I'll enroll you after the holidays,” Bruce offered, and was pleased to see how Dick took to the idea. 

Then something rippled across Dick's face. Like a flash flood, Dick's eyes were on him, once again wary and cautious. “Is it a boarding school? Is this just a way of getting rid of me?” 

Bruce sighed. “It won't be a boarding school. You'll live here. You can stay here for the rest of your life if you want to. I'm never going to get rid of you.” He didn't know how many times he had to say that, to either of his kids, before they really believed him.

Dick was not fooled. “But I'll be busy, just like you, and Alfred, and Jason. You won't have to spend time with me.” 

Well yes, that was sort of how parenting worked in most cases, but if he admitted that, he'd instantly lose all the good will that he'd managed to gain in this conversation, and as much as Bruce didn't like to think about it, Dick was right. That's what would happen. “Once a week, we'll do something together,” Bruce conceded. Being Batman was thankless, grueling work, and that didn't account for his commitments to WE, and the social circles Brucie kept. When Dick said he was busy, it wasn't an exaggeration but he could probably spare a few hours once a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. As Jason had warned him, he couldn't just leave Dick on his own.

Dick sulked at him. “Parents spend time with their kids every day,” Dick muttered to himself, but he nodded once in grudging acceptance. 

The statement was like a punch to the gut, and left Bruce reeling. He tried not to dwell on it, or let it show just how much the statement had hurt him. “Do you want to go downstairs?” He asked instead. If he kept thinking about it, he'd be the one sulking in his room. “There are presents and cookies, and Jason is down there just waiting for someone to harass him,” Bruce offered. 

Dick scrunched up the side of his face and studied Bruce for a few moments, before he nodded once. “Okay,” he said, with the severity of a man being drafted. He closed his eyes, scrubbed at his cheeks once more, and took a deep breath in and out. When he opened his eyes again, there was a smile on his face, and he bounded off the bed, and walked out the room. 

Bruce watched in disbelief. The only indication that Dick had been so upset not five seconds ago, were the red splotches around his eyes. It was like flipping a switch. 

Dick poked his head back into the room to look at him, and the smile on his face was convincing for someone that didn't know any better. It would have fooled Bruce if he wasn't paying close attention. “C'mon Bruce, those presents aren't going to open themselves!” And then he was gone, bounding down the hallway as Bruce got up and followed after him. 

He really needed to stop comparing his kids, they were nothing alike.


End file.
